Hair

Hair: Swoon 54

I am half Armenian. I was born bald with a full set of thick arched eyebrows. It took me a while to grow hair on my head, but once I did…impressive. By nineteen I could grow a mustache faster than my boyfriend, like I said, I am half Armenian. I was also a teenager in the 80s. As we are all noticing from the flurry of yearbook pictures being posted on FB… it was the era of hair, big hair. There was no need for me to blow dry my hair taller… by puberty it managed to be huge on its own.

In ninth grade my Social Studies teacher scared the hell out of me. Mrs. Thompson. She would sit on her desk, and talk at us, and grill us, and talk some more. She would call on us with no warning. Her deep exaggerated voice, we bored her and entertained her all at the same time. She had kids in their twenties and she used to tell us stories about how crazy they were, they were scary too. She was old, like 50. She did not understand our music but said at least it wasn’t “Bob Dylan, the moron who should have stayed a poet because he sang like a locked up animal”. She was terrifying.

One school night I randomly decided I needed a haircut. I was 15, had a step by step guide from Seventeen and mom’s “good haircutting scissors”…it seemed like a solid plan. I washed and conditioned. I bent over. I twisted and twisted until I had a cyclone of twirled hair and I cut off a few inches…one two three…the perfect layered look done right at home, thank you Seventeen Magazine for that budget beauty trick. I then wrapped my hair in a towel and went to bed.

I woke up to a head of hair so big, so curly, so very tall…80s hair before we were even in the 80s (it was 1979)… it was beyond. Too clueless to think anyone else might notice (!) I got dressed and went to school. I don’t remember anyone saying anything, until I walked into Social Studies. Entering a bit late and BOOM… that voice…think Kathleen Turner. Kathleen Turner, sitting on her desk, crossed legs hanging off the front corner…and as I walked into her quiet classroom… her eyes popping out of her head and she belted out “What. Did. You. DO. To YOUR HAIR?” I ran to my seat. The classroom was hysterical. I said nothing, I admit, I thought it was kind of awesome. Not one to get much attention (this was pre massive amounts of earrings and bracelets, black lipstick, and ripped clothing), it was pretty nice to be noticed by a woman who seemed to hate everything. That quote followed me for years, I walked into my high school reunion and someone I had not seen for 20 years did not say hi, they said, “What. Did. You. DO. To YOUR HAIR?” Some things are hard to forget.

Yesterday my mom asked me to cut her hair. That my friends can be a recipe for disaster, but a daughter’s gotta do what a daughter’s gotta do. Guess what happened? My mom pulled out the very same “good haircutting scissors” that I used at 15…because of course she still has them…and of course after 40 years, they must still be good. We made a deal that she would not art direct (well it went more like “mom, you are driving me crazy, let me just do it”,) she agreed (with an eye roll) and we moved on. I am not planning on changing careers, but I give myself a solid B. She looks adorable, completely adorable. One of the highlights of this quarantine will definitely be cutting Mom’s hair on the lawn while blasting We are the Champions. A classic moment.

Given my success, I decided to cut my own hair, why not, curly hair is harder to mess up. I twisted and cut…different results than 38 years ago for sure. I have half the amount of hair than I did back then and will not be stoping anyone in their tracks. Hormones are a bitch, but all in all, I get another solid B. Now I just need to find all my bracelets…I have them somewhere.